


Secrets

by blessedharlot



Series: Morgan's Bodyguard [1]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Age Difference, Biting, Clothing Bondage, Consensual Objectification, F/M, Light Bondage, Masochism, Poly Morgan, adoptive incest-adjacent, idk but these choices were not well thought out, sin verse - Freeform, where's the line for sin verse?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedharlot/pseuds/blessedharlot
Summary: Post-series, Morgan struggles with her duties as the Obscurist Magnus. Her new head of security brings with him some naughty options for stress relief.





	Secrets

 

Morgan could not fathom why she was so deeply aroused.

Gunplay echoed painfully through her ears, and struck some not-too-distant part of her carriage. Globes of Greek fire could be heard shattering and roaring to life somewhere further away. And all around her, High Garda flew into action... except for the stranger pinning her down, placing his own flesh between her body and the attack.

She wasn't a child. She knew just how grave this situation was, how many lives could be lost, possibly even given for her sake.

And yet she felt instant slickness between her legs, under this stranger's hips. Her skin felt white hot where he'd pressed her arms down to cover her.

She'd been manhandled for safety reasons plenty of times before, but had never had this response to it.

They'd only barely laid eyes on each other. Her carriage had only just arrived. Just one moment ago, light had poured through the carriage door and Nic - the High Commander, she'd have to be careful about that - had opened his mouth to introduce Morgan - the Obscurist Magnus, she told herself - to her new head of security. Someone hand picked by Nic.

Their eyes had locked then, and she saw in them a deep warmth, and confidence, and at the corners she found crinkles of experience. He was at least 50, possibly older, and wiry and solid and tall, the way Nic was. His skin was the same shade as Nic's too, come to think of it, though his eyes were a brighter green.

But before Nic could tell her his name, the man reacted instantly to the attack and forced her down against the leather seat of the fortified carriage.

_Just doing his job, Morgan_ , she thought to herself. _Don't be such a schoolgirl. This is the most inappropriate response you've ever had to anything._

His cologne was so mild and pleasant. His late-day shadow of stubble made just the quickest brush against her cheek, and it was delicious.

_And people could be dying, Morgan, while you fantasize about kissing this man, about running your hands through his salt and pepper hair, that looks so soft. Stop it!_

When she came back to her senses, the loud sounds of battle had stopped, at least for the moment.

"High Commander, we've secured the courtyard," a voice called from outside.

"Acknowledged. Captain," Nic barked at the man pinning Morgan down. "Get her inside!"

"Yessir!" Her new captain said with ease, and Morgan was suddenly on her feet, feeling completely enveloped by his arms. The guards all around them felt practically superfluous, as she suddenly felt certain her new captain could protect her all by himself.

Morgan soon found herself shuffled into their destination, embarrassingly sure that she looked flushed for reasons no one would properly guess.

A few moments later, the captain had brought her safely into a quiet room secured by several High Garda officers.

Being enclosed by security - and that being a good thing - was a feeling she was still adjusting to.

"You're unharmed, Obscurist?" The new captain asked.

"Yes, certainly," she replied, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. His voice was somehow warm as honey even as it rang with authority. "Thank you for your swift work."

He gave himself only an instant to cut those brilliant green eyes her way, and to nod his assessment corroborating her verbal report. Then he spun to an underling and began receiving information.

Soon Nic - the High Commander, Morgan thought again - had arrived and all heads turned his way. He had received his own reports already.

“Obscurist Magnus,” Nic said, approaching her and her captain. “Apologies for the troublesome arrival. The saboteur revealed himself before the attack was even over, and we believe the danger to be contained. We can discuss the political ramifications at the meeting you and I will have with local security in about ten minutes. But for now..."

Nic turned to the new captain. And just then, some sort of echo across Morgan’s vision - the mirroring of Nic’s jaw against the new captain’s - made something twist and ache in Morgan’s pelvis.

“Captain Vittorio Santi,” Nic said, introducing him at last. “Your new head of personal security. If you'll have him."

Morgan blinked in recognition. Nic’s older brother. Handsome Nic’s handsome older brother.

“You came out of retirement then, Captain?” she said, working hard to cover some feeling in her belly that she didn’t want to think too hard about.

“Yes, ma’am, to serve a Library I can finally be proud of,” the captain said earnestly, and then his smile tilted just a bit at the corner. “And to keep an eye on the High Commander.” He nodded to Nic.

“He comes from a shifty sort of family, this one,” Nic said, through dramatically narrowed eyes. “So be sure and watch him for me, Morgan.”

“Oh, most of my favorite people come from shifty sorts of family.” _You probably shouldn’t have purred that at him_ , Morgan thought. _Act like the Obscurist Magnus, dear._ “I’d be honored by your service, Captain.” Morgan smiled in what she hoped was an entirely unlascivious way.

Nic’s brother, she thought. Oh my, that’s complicated.

 

  
  
Six hours and several meetings later, Morgan was exhausted… as much by the delicate politics of the situation they’d gotten themselves into as by the ridiculous level of effort it had taken to behave professionally with her new head of security… who refused to leave her side. She’d mostly ignored him, avoiding eye contact and conversation, sitting in stoic silence when they were alone. But there he still was... soft salt and pepper hair still to be dealt with.

“Isn’t there a shift you should be handing off to?” She nearly snapped, traveling with him to yet another meeting.

“I’m the hands-on type,” he said. “I’ll be your primary guard most of the time. That gives me a better view of what needs to be done.”

She was tired, and couldn’t argue with anyone else around. So she poked a little at him.

“That doesn’t feel like a myopic position to you? Coordinating from up close instead of having a broader perspective?”

He shook his head and gave a determined frown as they climbed a set of stairs, guards ahead and behind them.

“Not when you’re my only priority,” he said. “No need to be anywhere else.”

Morgan bristled. It felt a little like the babysitters she’d had when she was under lock and key. Damn if this job wasn’t going to constantly show itself as more complicated than she expected.

They’d reached an anteroom where she could collect herself before meeting another diplomatic delegation.

“The delegation is running late,” a clerk poked his head in to say. “Terribly sorry, please tell us if you need anything. Won’t be more than a half hour.”

“Shall I call your assistant to bring you work?” Captain Santi asked her.

Morgan sighed, sat on the edge of an overstuffed seat, and shook her head absentmindedly. She focused on squaring her shoulders, on looking the part. Maybe if she practiced her stoic face a bit longer, in front of him, she’d have more emotional energy to expend with these people in these negotiations.

She looked up, and realized Captain Santi had been studying her as he stood attentively nearby.

“Obscurist Magnus,” he said, with deference. He met her eye and waited.

They were a clear, bright green, a bit larger than Nic’s. This one - _what was his first name again? Vittorio?_ \- his nose had the same satisfying line to it that Nic’s did, though his cheeks were slightly rounder.   _As though he’s laughed more_ , Morgan thought. It was a rather silly thought, she supposed.

She nodded to him to continue.

“We'll be spending a great deal of time together," Captain Santi said. "Sometimes, like in the carriage ride today, I won’t have the luxury of treating you as anything more than a body.”

He looked so quickly down at the rest of her that she wasn’t certain she had seen it.

“... albeit a precious one,” he continued, with the tiniest smile. “To be prized above my own. Sometimes you’ll be seeing far more of me than you should have to put up with... with me absorbing a few more of your secrets than you might willingly give to a stranger.”

_It’s compassion in his voice right now_ , she said. _Not sultriness. He’s not flirting, calm down._

“To that reality," he continued, "I will say… Nic thinks the world of you, as does Chris. We both know that’s rare. I know that means you are very good at what you do. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You have my unfailing support. I know you don’t know me well yet. But my job is to maintain the guard around you at all times, so that you can drop yours when you need to do so.”

Morgan allowed herself a lean toward him, tilting her head into her hand and taking a moment to gaze at his face. It was a good face. His hair still needed fingers in it.

“So you’re here to keep my secrets?” she asked.

He smiled, and took a step toward her, so that she had to crane her head up to see him.

“That’s the only way to get this done,” he said, with a grin.

_Okay that smile could be considered flirting_ , Morgan thought. _Jesus Christ, either way, I’m in a lot of trouble._

  


 

By the following day, Morgan’s awareness of his presence sometimes faded entirely as she worked… a function, she supposed, of his useful little speech about the nature of their relationship. When he came to her attention again, however, it was often with a headrush.

Such was one carriage ride between ever-increasingly tense meetings.

The door had been closed from the outside, and while the carriage was surrounded by layers of protection, they were alone inside.

They discussed the weather, the mundanities of the trip, and then Morgan stared out the window while Captain Santi did whatever it was he was constantly doing to keep her safe.

“You know,” she mused, “I’ve never asked what my unique, personalized options are for relieving stress. As a curator, with a curator’s hours and tensions. Surely there’s a system in place for that level of care.”

He didn’t respond, yet. She weighed her options.

“You’re here to tend to my person,” she said. “Did they fill you in on those privileges of mine?”

“Nothing official, though I’m certain we could obtain you anything at all that you wish,” he said, unfazed. “What did you have in mind?”

“A handsome bodyguard,” she said with a smirk, shocked and relieved at her own boldness.

Morgan turned in his direction but her eyes only traveled far enough to stare out his window instead of hers.

Captain Santi raised an eyebrow in her direction, she could tell. And Morgan forced herself to look at him… though she decided to start at his thighs and work her way up.

When she found his gaze, it pinned her down where she sat. She controlled a shiver before he could see it, she was fairly certain.

“I’m old enough to be your father,” he said curtly, though not quite unkindly.

“Are you trying to deter me or arouse me, Captain?” Morgan pushed the words out as something slightly louder than a whisper.

“Which one am I accomplishing?” he asked mildly.

At that, she blushed, faced forward and closed her eyes.

Her mind had gone blank, and Morgan knew she’d manage nothing clever in reply to that… though she couldn’t help drawing her tongue across her bottom lip, slowly, knowing he was still watching her face.

  
  
  


Two days later, at about ten o’clock in the evening, everything had fallen apart. Delicate negotiations had run into disastrous obstacle after disastrous obstacle, while insurgents threatened the security of whole towns.  They’d accomplished nothing that they’d planned - nothing that the Library needed, nothing that would save lives in the looming conflict.

Morgan’s mind reeled as she sat in her chambers, helpless. Jess was still unavailable, still sequestered on his own mission.

People could die. And it would be entirely on her own incompetence. Her own hubris that she thought she could do this job. An accident of birth gave her powers and she thought she should shape people’s lives for it and she was a fool for thinking so.

Nic was working his end. There was really nothing more Morgan could do, at least not tonight, not from her position. She knew it, even as Nic assured her of it.

There was nothing for her to do but wait, wait for others to fix it. Nothing to do but agonize over her mistakes.

There was a knock at the open door, and she knew a few High Garda buzzed in the anteroom beyond.

But Morgan didn’t look up.

“Obscurist,” she heard Captain Santi ask.

Morgan didn’t reply.

He waited a long time for her cue to continue, and without one, he finally spoke.

“The High Commander will be occupied all night,” Santi said. “He suggests you take your rest.”

“Mustn’t we be ready for danger?” she asked, biting a nail.

“We’re fortified here,” Santi said gently. She felt his hand on her shoulder. “And we should have ample time to act, should any of the worst scenarios happen. We still don’t know that they would. It’s alright for you to rest.”

She said nothing in reply, and the hand moved off her shoulder. Morgan heard him walk toward the door.

“Captain Santi!” Morgan stood quickly.

Unexpectedly, memories flooded her thoughts, of the first few weeks she’d known her first Captain Santi, Nic. His commands, his authority, his smiles, his charm. The heat that radiated off of him, even when she feared him. No one tread that line of inducing terror and attraction like Captain Niccolo Santi had to, well, most of the students she’d had the chance to interview on the subject since their postulancy.

“Captain Santi.” Morgan worked to rejoin this Captain in this room before her. This… this was the sexual danger she craved.

She couldn’t find any words, though he seemed to intuit some of her meaning. He closed the door and locked it, his eyes soft and watching her carefully. He stepped closer toward her, as if to close the space she’d have to speak across.

“Obscurist-”

“Don’t speak,” she said. “If you speak, I have to think, and I don’t want to think. I mustn't think anymore. I have to-”

She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking so hard. Santi took one step closer… though he still kept himself just beyond arm’s length.

“I must get out of my head,” she whispered. “I just want to feel. Make me feel something.”

Morgan looked up pleadingly at him.

He looked… trepidatious.

“Will you?” she said. “Only if…”  

Morgan recoiled in horror at the thought she’d just had. She commanded him. Would he feel he could say no?

“Of course, I mean-” she gasped. “Only if you want to-”

She spun around, about to move away. But he took one more step -- not touching, not yet, but close enough to reach out and touch her.

“You must tell me,” she whispered, suddenly terrified. “If you don’t want to be here, you must tell me. You must leave now. Or tell me to stop. Or-”

“What do you want to feel?” Santi’s gentle voice washed over her, softening every part of her.

“Something that crowds out everything else,” she said impulsively.

“Should I get your husband here?”

She let the error go. She and Jess weren’t married, though they might as well have been. But some words didn’t matter.

“He can’t make it here. He’s got his own job to do…” she paused, but only for a moment. “And he’s given his approval.”

Morgan stared at the floor still, and heard him pause before speaking.

“Of me?” he asked.

“.. of anything I need from a coworker to get my job done.”

So much was wrong. He should be family. Nic and Chris were the only caring parents she'd ever had. Nic was practically her father. Vittorio mirrored him in so many ways.

She was his charge, and his boss. His career was in her hands.

He may well be three times her age. _I bet he has remarkable experience_ , she thought.

Morgan finally met his eyes. He looked at her with his brow softly furrowed. It was Nic's look too, assessing a situation. Deciding a course of action for them all.

“Promise me we wouldn’t be cheating,” Santi finally said.

“I promise.” She could promise she wouldn't be cheating, and presumed from the question that he could answer the same. She didn’t even know who might be important to him, she realized. She’d know him only four days, and hadn’t yet asked.

Santi moved with purpose. He reached for Morgan as though to take her into his arms, and then he had his fingers threaded into her hair.

He brought his lips in close and held them there, less than an inch away from hers. He pulled taut on her hair, and she felt his breath soft against her cheek.

Morgan’s mouth watered, her thighs felt slick, she felt dizzy and still he held his lips there just apart from hers. His bottom lip - a glistening soft pink swell against his stubble, against his jawline - begged to be bitten. She tried to lean in, just a little, and he pulled her hair tighter to keep her away.

Morgan moaned.

“Ohhh,” he said with curiosity, “listen to that.” Santi tilted her head back and forth, closely admiring her lips, her nose, her eyes.

He leaned in close to whisper. “Do you like it when it hurts?”

Morgan didn’t intend to respond. But against her will, a whimper escaped her lips at the question.

“Am I here to punish you for your performance, then?” he said grimly.

As he finished his question, he did some small twist of his wrist. Morgan barely noticed any motion but suddenly several threads of pain crackled down her scalp and she let out a full throated whimper of delight.

“Oh, no,” he said, sighing with satisfaction. "This hunger is deeper than just today."

He met her eyes, kept her hair held too tight and spoke in a clear, serious voice.

“What is it that you want to feel?”

Morgan held his gaze, though she felt herself shake.

“Overcome,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow and kept examining her face closely.

“A bit… used,” she added, barely whispering.

With his lips still pursed, Santi ran his tongue against his front top teeth.

He looked down at her body, clearly drinking in her form under her evening gown. Then he blinked, as though distracted by something.

“Your tailor should be fired,” he said. “This is a terrible dress.”

“What?” she stuttered. “Terrible how?”

With one motion, he pulled his hand out of her hair, took the thick, reinforced ropes of fabric that lay elegantly at each shoulder and yanked down on them, hard.

Her arms were suddenly, startlingly immobile at her sides, roped in just above her elbows by the cords he’d somehow twisted as he pulled.

Before she realized it, the captain had thrown her off-balance as well, and she fell backwards, not entirely sure how she’d land until she looked up at a bed canopy above her.

_When had they gotten to the bed?_

He was on top of her before she realized his yank of her dress had another consequence… each breast now strained against the compressed fabric across them, pressing up and almost out of the dress. One nipple was still firmly but barely covered.  The other breast showed a hint of swollen brown just above the now distorted neckline of her gown.

His attention was entirely wrapped up in the prizes he’d nearly uncovered, not sparing another glance to her face.

He had her pinned. She couldn’t move her arms. Her mind screamed about rules and boundaries as a deep hunger for his touch threatened to turn her inside out.

She wondered where those other, darker hungers slumbered.

“How far does your interest go in being hurt, I wonder,” Santi asked.

His question, his posture… he was an exquisite picture of lust and attentiveness and complete disregard. It was too much, it was too good, and she found herself twisting away from him, testing her reach, aching too much to stay in one place.

She got one shoulder spun underneath him and shoved one foot against his leg, getting leverage to move partway out from under him.

But she was too slow, and he was too well-positioned. He simply and easily used his own body to pin her down to the bed on her stomach… her arms still restrained at the elbows. Her breasts, now pulled free of her dress, squeezed against the bedcover.

She could now feel his cock against her ass -- a rock hard rod that nearly brought her to climax just by being pressed against her.

He took her shoulder in a bruising grip and spun her back around underneath him, leaving less room this time for her to move her pelvis. Santi made sure, though, that her breasts could feel air - and his gaze - against them.

“Do we need a cease code?” he asked calmly. “Just to be clear.”

“No!” Morgan said. “I’ll tell you when to stop. But this isn’t it.”

“Then behave yourself. That was rude. Though I do appreciate the assist.”

Without warning, he leaned down and sunk his teeth into her right breast, just above the nipple.

She yelped in pain, and felt her thighs go even slicker.

Santi put a hand over her mouth, pulled his teeth away and bit the flesh between her breast and shoulder.

She let a long low sob flutter into his hand.

“Hush,” he pulled up to snap at her. “Did you think to put a silencing ward up before we started? Do you want the rest of your security to find us here? The locals? The High Commander?”

Morgan choked on her next sound and struggled to control her breathing as he moved his hand away.

The pressure of him on top of her eased for a moment, and she felt her skirt flipped up off her legs.

As he pulled her panties away from her hips, she could feel the wet fabric cling an extra moment before he tugged them free.

“Oh,” he sighed quietly, “you are a ravenous little thing, aren’t you?”

Morgan flashed on every deep craving, every hunger that had ever rocked her. The things she’d hungered for were too deep to name.

“You have no idea,” she said.

He grinned.

“I have some idea,” he said knowingly, forcing her thighs apart as she pressed deliciously against his hands.

She bit back a howl as there was suddenly a tight, sharp grip on her mound. It left as quickly as it came, and another claw gripped one inside slope of her thigh. She grunted, and gave in to her instinct to close her thighs tight - a struggle that met with no success against him prying himself between them.

“Easy,” he said. “Don’t hyperventilate yet.”

“Yet,” Morgan breathed, then immediately gasped as two velvet soft fingers slipped into her. The contrast was nearly enough to push her over the edge… his hand finding the most perfect, most gentle curve imaginable, and darting back and forth several times .

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” she said in astonishment.

She’d just leaned into the sumptuous rhythm when he pulled back fingers that now glistened.

Santi watched her watching him as he put them in his own mouth and took a long slow suck of her taste from them. His eyes gently rolled back, and then he brought his mouth to hers and let her drink deep.

_Their first kiss_ , she thought.

He pulled his lips away, though the rest of him held her quite still, his pelvis keeping her legs spread wide.

“Your getting my uniform dirty.”

“Take it off. I want to see you.”

He frowned and shook his head.

“Imagine it,” he said.

“I don’t want to. Take your clothes off, please.”

“I’m an old man,” he said with clear evasion. “It’ll be better this way.”

“Don’t be thick.”

Just once, he ground both of his hips into her, hard -- a sharp jolt against her pelvis that made her shiver all over in the delight.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “Thick is exactly what you’re hungry for.”

She grunted in frustration. That wasn’t what she meant, and he well knew it.

“Are you shy?” she asked. “I promise I want to see you.”

Her encouraging tone seem to bring a briefly sardonic look to his eye.

“I don’t need pity,” Santi said. “I know I’m still a very good view.”

“Then please take your shirt off.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m playing hard to get. Start keeping your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

At that she raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said adamantly, “you won’t like my method.”

Her arms pinned down, his shirt resolutely on, Morgan had no choice but to imagine what she could neither see nor sink her fingers into. The same powerful cords and curves of a soldier, she expected. Like Nic. Probably a chest full of hair like Nic’s, though Morgan could tell from just the few inches she’d seen of Vittorio’s forearms that he didn’t have quite the fur Nic did there. She wondered what his tattoos might be.

For one instant Morgan considered leaning forward and grabbing hold of his shirt with her teeth and yanking until she could reach something. Only the slimmest margin of intact pride kept her from giving him the satisfaction.

That, and worry she wasn’t up for the punishment to follow.

“Now, what was this you said about being used,” he mused.

He started a slower grind into her mound, and shook his head thoughtfully. “I really don’t think humiliation is your game. I don’t smell that on you. You said feeling a *bit* used. Hm. What about…”

He slowly reached a hand up to her face, and Morgan thought she’d faint with wonder at what he was about to do.

Slowly, gradually, he pressed her head to the right until her ear was flat to the mattress, and she couldn’t see him. Her view was the smooth lines of the still made bed, and the wallpaper beyond.

"What about disregard?" he asked, mostly to himself.

Morgans breathing filled her ears and she could barely hear him speaking… a sensation that only grew stronger when he shifted his hand to cover her only exposed ear.

Time slowed as Morgan’s field of hearing narrowed, and Santi shifted above her. The marble tip of his cock brushed down her labia, and then he pierced her, a wide, rigid arrow hitting the mark.

She came immediately, shuddering hard under his hips holding her down, under his hand pressing her face away from him.

He kept riding her, a masterful shifting rhythm of languidness and speed that kept her on the edge of a precipice and then knocked her clean off of it over and over again.

She knew her throat grew raw… though from screaming or trying not to scream, she wasn’t sure.

Eventually, Santi moved his hand away from her ear. But Morgan didn’t look away from the wallpaper she still hadn’t seen clearly. She could hear his breath this way, pressing into her ear softly as he enjoyed her.

It was a relief to let her ecstasy show, a relief to drop the mask and not rely on her poker face to get her through the day. A relief to bare herself to this man she'd met four days ago… to bare her secrets and her body and to have her legs spread for him to use.

She realized her hands had wandered as far as they could, worrying the ridged seam on the side of his uniform trousers as well as she could reach it as he still thrust into her.

She felt herself come one more time, her full-body shudder now much weaker than the orgasms rocking her, and regained her breath as quietly as she could.

“Captain,” she gasped. “Captain… Santi.”

“Shhhh, im working.”

“Please fuck me as hard as you can,” she whispered.

He stopped and held perfectly still a moment. Then he took her face in his hand and turned her toward him.

“That,” he warned her, “would be pretty damned hard.”

“Do it. And come inside me,” she pleaded. “I’m begging you.”

Another assessing look at her. Another careful decision made.

He shifted himself into a different angle, and moved his forearms to cradle her head on either side, bringing them nose-to-nose.

_He wasn’t willing to come with my head turned away,_ she thought. _He’s not looking anywhere else but my face._ Those bright warm green eyes locked into hers and she felt enveloped from every possible direction.

Santi hips picked up the fastest rhythm they’d had, and then doubled down on it. He’d moved her legs just slightly, to make for a shallower penetration. But that was apparently because he’d been holding back, and he’d soon plunged deeper into her than he had been, deeper and harder and quicker. The pain radiated from the bottom of her womb to the top of her head and she gulped in delicious waves of release and relief.

She finally arched her head back, opened her throat as wide as she could and breathed in cool air against the delicious hurt.

When the pain abated, and he was still, she looked back at him... and he was still watching her. The soft look on his face felt like wonder to her.

Morgan felt she was slipping in and out of full awareness. When she came to again, the pressure had eased around her arms, where the cords had left a bruising pain. Softer pangs radiated off her arms slowly, as Santi rubbed gently where the fabric had pinched. A soft blanket now touched her back, and her shoulders.

She felt hair being brushed behind her ear. Then she had a chest to nuzzle, so she did. She pressed her forehead to a clear flat stretch of black, avoiding the same buttons that had dug into her chest earlier in their encounter.

“Why can’t I see you out of uniform?” she wondered gently.

“Keep ‘em wanting more, that’s what Mother always said.”

Morgan felt her brow furrow. “In what context did your mother say that?”

“Oh, Mother was a fan dancer, didn’t Nic ever tell you?”

She giggled into his chest.

“I think you’re lying to me,” she said.

“Perish the thought.”

“Telling me tall tales.”

Morgan leaned back and brought a hand up to stroke the front of his uniform shirt.

Her eyes only occasionally stayed open now. Once, when they closed, she thought she felt a kiss on her nose.

She tilted her head up to find his eyes again.

“Did you just kiss me on the nose?”

“No,” he grinned.

“You did.”

“No. Must be another of the men you picked up tonight.”

Morgan smiled at him. And her mind wandered where she didn’t want it to go.

“Captain-”

“Call me Vittorio until you’re dressed again, please.” She felt her hair smoothed down again.

“Vittorio. Have I destroyed the Great Library of Alexandria?”

“Hm," he mused. "Probably not.”

‘“Probably not’? You can't be more encouraging than that?”

“‘Probably not’ is about as good as it gets for any of us, answering that particular question on any given day. Get some rest and we'll get our next answer tomorrow.”

“I was abysmal today.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m going to destroy all my friends' good work, all their sacrifices.”

“Shhhhhh.”

“I'm so bad at this.”

“You don’t have much practice being kind to yourself, do you, Morgan?”

Morgan stopped and thought.

“That sounds kind of dangerous to me,” she replied.

“Tell me about the last time you ate with your partner.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“I need to hear about the last meal you ate with Jess.”

Morgan smiled wide at the thought. Jess had brought her favorite Indian food, even though he didn’t care for it. They both knew they’d be separated for some time. She ate, and they kissed between bites, and they fed each other bread to cool off their mouths.

“Jess... got extra bread,” was the only thing she got out before her mind, slowed down again, came to a near stop.

“That sounds like a very good meal,” Vittorio said.

Morgan realized she still hadn't run her hands through Vittorio's soft hair, as she faded into sleep in his arms.


End file.
